Dark Angel
by Lupe Fiasco
Summary: Chloe knew angels weren't real and miracles didn't happen so how does she explain the craziness "guardian angel" Derek Souza opens her eyes to? Demons, angels, and Nephilim.
1. Chapter 1

Dark Angel

o1

Chloe Saunders knew all too well that angels didn't exist. If they did, well, then, maybe Mom would still be alive.

When she was a little girl, when she was real and not made of a shell, her Mom would tell her that everyone had an angel, hidden in the sea of faces, blending in with humans. Guardian Angels, Mom had said, are angels that have lost their wings, after falling for a human.

That was before Mom died.

Gathering herself against the cold wind, Chloe stood and stared down with blurry eyes at the grey headstone. Weeds clawed their way up from the dead, brittle grass, like cold, angry fingers trying to pry apart the secrets of the cement. "I love you, Mom," she said, peeling away the weeds and adjusting the fresh flowers.

For the longest time, she just stood there, shivering in the frigid air, staring down at the ground. Years had passed and it still hadn't gotten any easier. "I've gotta go. Aunt Lauren'll have a fit if I'm late on Christmas Eve," she whispered and pulled the hood of her winter jacket up.

She wiped the wet slush from her knees and headed out of the cemetery, ignoring the loud honking of cars and screaming kids being dragged out of toy stores.

The sun peeked out through the dark clouds and gleamed on slick asphalt as she picked her way around glossy patches of ice and snow and puddles. Seeing as it was December, it had yet to warm up and a blanket of snow was layered on the ground by the careful hand of the gods.

It was as she sat down on the edge of the bridge, legs tucked between the spaces of the bars, just staring out at the cold, desolate place she called Home, that she heard the whispers. At first, it was a soft, a gentle hum in the back of her brain and then it got louder and shriller, a thousand voices screaming her name, hysterically. A pounding exploded in the side of her head, like someone had struck her with a broken brick but there was no one there; all there was were snow-dusted cars and broken beer bottles.

"Chloe."

It was a man's voice, startling close. She twisted around and a saw man behind her, dressed in a flannel jacket and paint-stained jeans, the wind whipping his snow-sprinkled black hair around his handsome face. Even from this distance, she could see the determination on his face, like he was determined to maybe push her off.

"Wh-who are y-you?" she asked through chattering teeth. A dreadful prickle of fear raced through her as he started forward. She scrabbled to her feet and the slush underneath her boots slid; she stumbled and gripped the bars.

"I'm a friend," he said, holding his bare hands out to her. His hands were rough looking, with calluses and grease stains, like he didn't know how to wash his hands. She stepped back.

"Chloe!" He was lunging for her as the ground creaked, groaning loudly before it gave way under her feet. The cold sensation of falling filled her as he lurched, arms out, the wind whipping at him. The sound of rushing wind drowned out what he was saying but she could see him, just before she smacked into the water, and he looked like an angel, with massive wings.

_If only angels were real_, she thought as she hit the concrete wall of water.

oOo

Everything was warm, like being curled up in front of a fireplace. Chloe's mouth tasted metallic, like she'd stuffed rusty pennies in her mouth. Had she bitten her tongue?

Something tickled her nose and a voice whispered, gently, "Wake up." A flash of yellows and blues and reds danced behind her eyelids as something shined into her eyes; she squirmed away from the light.

"Chloe."

It was a man's voice and one she didn't recognize at all. It wasn't any of her friends or her dad, besides he was in Berlin, or any uncles or cousins and she was an only child. "Chloe." Rough hands shook her shoulders gently but firmly, touching her neck, feeling for, well, she didn't know.

"Chloe, open your eyes."

And she did and it hurt like hell. A searing pain blinded her and she let out a noise of agony; a blurry face swam in front of her eyes. "Hey, hey, sh, it's okay," said the voice again as the light dimmed. It took her a minute to realize it was _coming _from him; he was _shining_, like a light bulb or something. Light Bulb Maniac.

"Where…" she started, the daze peeling away to settle into terror and panic. They were in a meadow, with long grass that tickled her bare arms, and lots and lots of colorful flowers dotting everywhere. Trees, with green leaves and pretty fruits, crowded around them, forming a protective, spaced circle. "Am I dead?" she blurted.

"No," he laughed softly, stroking her cheek. He was really attractive, with curling black hair and Apple Smith green eyes, scars dotting his cheeks, hidden under the bumps of rough patchy acne. He was tall, even when crouched, and muscular, in an attractive, almost predatory way. His white t-shirt and jeans looked so normal that she had an astonishing epiphany.

"You kidnapped me!"

He blinked slowly at her, mockingly before he let out a deep, baritone laugh that sent her heart skipping. "Believe me," he said in his deep, thunderous voice that sounded too hypnotic to be good, "You'd come with me willing. Besides, we're in the Crossroads."

"Crossroads?" she repeated in a trembling sort of voice, pushing away her hair to glance down at her body. A white, translucent sundress hid everything and nothing, showing off her slim frame but keeping her bits hidden from his piercing view. "Crossroads of what?" she asked.

He'd been weaving a flower crown, ignoring her for a while; from this angle, she could see the big, black shapes on his back, jutting out of his shirt. A breeze rustled and then the shapes extended out, unfurling into glorious, dark-as-night wings with grey secondary feathers streaked with black freckles. He looked at her, a grim look on his handsome face.

"Crossroads between dying and living," he said calmly and then stood up, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet. Where he touched burned fiercely and she was unable to determine if it was nice or unpleasant. "Now, do you want live in the human world or come with me?" he asked pleasantly.

"Wh-who are y-you?" she demanded as she tried to wretch herself away from him. His grip tightened as he looked at her, a bored expression on his face. "My name isn't important; call me Wolf. What's important is that I'm your guardian angel and you have a choice to make, Chloe." Something in his eyes changed, growing determined. "Either way, I'll come with you and protect you."

"_Protect me? Guardian _angel? Those are f-fairytales my mother used to tell me when she was alive!" Her voice broke and tears filled her eyes as she sniffled and stared down between her bare toes. The ground was clear and she could see herself lying in the snow, frozen, with Wolf hovering over her, his hands warming to red and pressing against her chest. He looked calm, but frantic; water poured off him at an alarming rate.

"Choose, Chloe. Come with me to Heaven or go back down to Earth," he said sharply, crossing his arms. He looked bright in the sunlight as she thought. Nate's smiling face; her Aunt's laughter…"Earth," she blurted and he smiled a sad smile.

"Okay," he whispered and turned her towards him. "I'm always here," he said and touched her chest gently, not in a perverted manner but feeling her heart.

Despite herself, she could feel her face warm as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her temple, right at the spot where the pounding had been.

_I'm here. Don't be afraid, _Wolf's voice whispered as warmth cocooned her. She saw his sad eyes as the world rushed to black.

_Don't be afraid, Chloe._

It was, as everything turned black that she realized he'd been the man on the bridge.


	2. Chapter 2

Dark Angel

o2

Everything hurt and Chloe Saunders couldn't feel her toes. "Chloe," said a voice as she felt something touch her face. Breathless, she tried to suck in air and cold, icy air filled her throat, pushing down into her windpipe, filling her lungs like balloons. It hurt to breathe, hurt to even _think _of breathing but her lungs worked on their own, taking in oxygen.

She bolted up as water filled her mouth and hacked it onto the ground, soaking her jeans and frozen fingers. "That's it," whispered a man's voice, an unnaturally warm hand stroking her back; someone, a woman, was crying fiercely. "Chloe, my precious baby," sobbed the woman. Exhausted, and freezing, she curled up against the frozen ground; ignoring the cold water the she landed in, and hugged herself. Everything was blurry; she couldn't see passed the hot, hot tears that burned her cold cheeks and stung her blue lips.

She saw a man's face leaning close to hers, eyes the color of summertime leaves, his nose bright red like his acne-ridden cheeks; he smelled wonderful, like pine needles and sandalwood and something entirely his own. He smiled, teeth white against his red skin. "You're safe," he whispered, stroking her cheek. His skin burned her like a hot stove but she figured that was because she had frostbite and hypothermia.

"I'm…so…sl…" She yawned, lips cracking and blood welling up in the lines. "…Sleepy…" she continued slowly, eyelids drooping lower and lower. "No, no, no, don't go to sleep!" screamed the woman's voice.

"Chloe!"

oOo

The sound of a monitor woke her hours later. Every inch of her felt like it was on fire; her mouth tasted fuzzy and swollen, and her eyes ached at the bright, bright lights outside. The room itself was dark, the lights off, and she was grateful. She knew she was in a hospital, she knew she was lucky to be alive but yet she felt…oddly out of it. Maybe this was a huge dream. She blinked slowly as she noticed the IVs and the drips and the monitors and piles upon piles of wires connecting her to life.

"It's okay," whispered a voice and she turned, squinting at his shape. She knew it was Wolf but he looked so _normal _that for a minute she feared the Crossroads had been a hallucination. She blinked and he was still there; okay, then, she _hadn't _hallucinated the extremely handsome man. "Angels aren't real," she said, her voice scratchy and strained as she lay back, watching him.

"Said who?" he demanded, leaning into the light that came in from the door in a long line; he was clean shaven and his slick hair was messy, his alert green eyes watching her, the eyes of a predator, around the pupils was an inhumane yellow-green that faded into the summertime leaves. It took her breath away.

She thought back to her fall in the river, hitting the icy concrete wall hard, the breath knocked out of her; surely, his wings had been a hallucination, brought on by the frigid temperatures but as she looked at his eyes, the way the light cast softening shadows across his hard mouth and sharp cheekbones, she thought maybe it wasn't.

He suddenly smiled, looking up at her. She'd been caught staring and her cheeks burned like fire. "Where's my aunt?" she asked quietly, squeezing her fingers into fists around the scratchy blankets.

"She had to work," Wolf replied, resting his chin in his palms. Dressed in a dark sweater and dark jeans, she could only see his hands, his wrists and his face, reminding her of a macabre painting of a decapitated man, smiling.

"Of course she did. And my father?" she whispered. _Please, at least let him come, _she thought with a trickle of desperation. "His flight's to land at 5. It's only 2. You've been out for a while," he said, running a hand along her hip and down her thigh gently. Her heart drummed as his touch sent a hot burning through her veins. "How long?" she rasped, tasting her dry lips and the bleeding cracks. He wouldn't look at her, suddenly, and he seemed far more interested in the blanket seems that he should've been.

"How _long_?" she asked, louder, angrier, blood thumping in her eardrums; her pulse throbbed in her wrists painfully, harsh and violent. Tears filled her eyes. "Damn you, tell me!" she hissed, anger replacing her panic as his eyes met hers, sharp and painfully bright with _his _anger. He stood slowly and deliberately, glaring down at her; he looked frighteningly dangerous, a shadow across his eyes, a tension in his broad, broad shoulders. Something feral sparked across his face.

"Don't you dare _damn _me," he breathed, his nostrils flared as he took two long strides closer, stalking like a wolf after prey. He looked startlingly like his namesake; wild hair and lips peeled back to reveal bubblegum pink gums and sharp canines, eyes full of sharp, brutal anger. "You don't know the _beginning _of damnation, so shut you little human mouth."

Something akin to fear slid into her lungs and filled them up like water, making her sputter and choke. "Little human mouth? What about you, almighty and powerful angel? Do you even _listen _to us? We must be specks on your oh so important map. Nothing more than gnats," she said, far braver than she felt, her voice surprisingly steady. "You want to know _why _I don't believe in angels or miracles?"

Her hands were coiled in fists around the bed railing and the bolts bit into her skin, bitter and painful. She pressed her hand harder against, trembling with a million kisses she'd never get, a million smiles that she'd never see, a million whispered words and hugs and laughs that would never materialize. Taking a deep breath, she sat up straighter, leaning forward until she was level with his eyes, since he'd leant down.

"When I as ten, my mother got lung cancer. Never smoked a day in her life. I begged and I prayed and prayed and pleaded and promised and your God just let her die, let her wither away, slow and painful. Coughing up blood, the chemotherapy that didn't work but cost thousands." She took a quivering breath.

"She died on my birthday."

He seemed to be taken back but straightened his hair and leaned down close, close enough to kiss her if he wanted, close enough to butt her head too, and whispered, softly, "God has been around for a thousand years. Do you really think he could've brought your mother back from the brink of death? Death sank its teeth into her and he was a wild dog, draining her. My Father could not have stopped it had he wanted to."

She turned away and curled up, ignoring him. She wouldn't let this bastard see her cry because of him.


	3. Chapter 3

Dark Angel

O3

Chloe woke up quietly to the sound of two men speaking in hushed whispers. The room was freezing and she tugged the blankets tighter around her shoulders, shivering. The voices paused; a door closed softly.

"So she'll be okay," Steve whispered, sounding tired and hoarse. That was his "I'm so tired, I can't even keep my voice steady" tone; he'd been using it since Jennifer died. "Yes," Wolf murmured back, "she will be. She just needs to kept overnight to make sure she's okay."

"Thank you." A loud sniffle from her dad made Chloe's eyes burn with tears. "What happened?"

"The bridge's concrete was wearing away and she was walking. It gave out and she fell into the river before I could reach her," Wolf explained calmly, his voice lulling her headache away; he sounded so calm all the time, it was a relief from her aunt's pitchy voice and her dad's exhaustion-oozing one.

"Thank you," Steve said, his voice cracking as he struggled not to cry. "Don't thank me," Wolf told him. Chloe rolled over and pretended to wake up. Wolf's green eyes met hers over her father's shoulder.

_Death sank its teeth into her and he was a wild dog, draining her. My Father could not have stopped it had he wanted to. _

Tears picked her eyes as she sat up, letting her mangled curls fall in a curtain over her profile to hide her impending breakdown from him. _Why did you let me live? _She wondered as a huge hand touched her knee, squeezing. "Do not cry, Chloe," Wolf whispered, wiping his thumb across her lower lid. "You look more beautiful when you're smiling," he continued and, despite his calm tone, his eyes were intense as he held her face and wiped away her tears. Her cheeks flamed as the door opened.

"Jeez, Chloe, you—" Tori began but her voice faltered when she saw Wolf, cradling Chloe's face. "I should've known you'd be here, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor," she laughed, her expression thoughtful as she brushed back her overgrown bangs out of her almond-shaped eyes, careful not to smudge her smoky eye shadow.

"Y-you gu-uys kn-know each other?" Chloe stammered. For some reason, her heart hammered at the idea of Tori, undoubtedly gorgeous with her exotic looks and eccentric fashion of leather and eye catching fabrics, knowing Wolf made her edgy, her hands clenching into tight fists around the scratchy blanket. "Not like that, I assure you," Wolf told Chloe soothingly, running his fingers through her tangled curls.

Her face warmed again.

"This is my brother. Derek, Chloe."

Wolf—Derek?—growled.

"Brother? Derek?" Chloe's head spun. So he _wasn't_ an angel? What the hell was that, before, at the Crossroads? Was that real? And what he'd said last night, was that just his messed up brain taunting her?

"Yeah." Tori leaned against the sink jutting out of the wall. Chloe blinked hard as she saw the shimmering air behind Tori's sharp shoulders, wide and arching and filling up the entire room, wall to wall.

Large, deteriorating wings were attached to her shoulders, flapping gently like a bird's; a shower of feathers swept across the room with each swooping arch of her wings.

"Can she see—" Tori began. Chloe squeezed her eyes shut as a sharp, violent pain exploded in her head. She heard her dad yelling. Derek—Wolf's calm voice.

A thick, cold darkness rushed over her.

oOo

Everything was dark and she could see her breath; she shivered in her thin hospital gown. When she looked around, all she saw was a pitch black. Something wet seeped across her bare toes and she shivered, hugging herself.

"_Chloe_," whispered a voice, the sound echoing across the vast emptiness. Every hair stood on end as something rushed passed her. "_I'm here…still here…always,_" the voice continued softly like the hissing of a dangerous snake. Chloe's heart pounded as she stumbled. The liquid her feet were in soaked her chest, growing warmer.

The smell of rusted metal filled her nostrils. Something touched her back, pinpricks of pain making her scrabble forward. She lost her balance and the taste of the liquid was hot and salty, like blood. "W-where am I?" she asked, sputtering as she wiped her mouth on her shoulder.

"_You are home," _the voice crooned in her ear and Chloe pushed herself forward, crawling on her hands first then stumbling ot her feet, ignoring the now hot liquid that splashed up, soaking the hem of her gown and running slick down her thighs. The cold air swirled around her as she breathed deeply, trying to ignore the stitch digging into her side like a knife.

"_You can't—" _

"Leave her alone," growled a voice as someone smashed into the ground (was it even ground?). The force sent jagged chunks flying into the air and, with watering eyes; she landed on the ground, scraping her legs and cheek on the scratchy surface. What happened to the liquid? Debris fell from the air and hit her arms and legs.

It was Wolf—Derek standing there, rivulets of thick, red blood running down his face as he stood up, wielding a long, thick sword with a golden handle and black stone sitting in the bottom. He looked different, younger, with choppy black hair and clear skin.

Scars littered his muscular body, overlapping each other and Chloe couldn't help but stare. He was beautiful, hard muscle laid out proportionally on his body, rivaling a linerback. He turned to her, his face colored with the blood running from a large gash across his forehead. "Go!" he barked as he turned back, muttering something that sounded like gibberish as he turned back to the thing in darkness.

"Now, Chloe!" he yelled at her, his face twisting as he was knocked off his feet, sailing through the air. A determined look dominated his angular features, as there was a wet, loud ripping sound. Large, full-feathered black wings, albeit bloody as they'd just exploded from his shoulders and damp like wiped down hair, beat the air, sending droplets of blood down below. Chloe stared, transfixed, at his wings.

"You need to go!" he yelled as his hand glowed, lightning crackling loudly around them. She screamed when she saw the giant pool of blood and the blood soaking her clothes. She turned in the direction of the hissing that rose and screamed even louder, her ears ringing with the sound of it, her throat aching from the shrillness.

The thing was big and black, like a blob of ink, except it was freakishly tall and thin, bloody ribs jutting form its chest, out of a gaping hole that revealed a thick, red blood and a blue orb that pulsed where a heart should've been. The ink blob monster laughed horribly and smiled, showing off sharp, jagged teeth stained with blood and chunks of flesh.

"Royce, back away!" yelled De—Wolf (she was so confused as to what to call him).

"Chloe!" called a faraway voice. "Run in the direction of the light and don't look back…ever," Wolf instructed her and she hesitated. He folded his wings and dropped like a stone as Royce lurched forward, the gaping hole in his chest spurting.

"You and your useless weapons can't win," he laughed darkly and Chloe turned. "I see your mother. She's doing quite well," he said. Her chest felt thick and her stomach hurt. "Run!" Wolf's massive hands shoved her and she obeyed, hearing Royce screaming the entire time about seeing her mother.

She saw a light as the fight roared behind her, Royce laughing every time Wolf hit the ground but he kept getting back up, looking stronger than before. She raced faster as she heard a thunderous crash and something loud cracked. "Derek's dead, Chloe," Royce laugh. Something hot and sour burned in her throat as tears filled her eyes.

"Chloe!"

She was screaming as she woke up, flailing her arms every which way. De—Wolf was holding her, his wide green eyes the first thing she saw when she opened them.

"Derek, I-I s-saw…" she began as tears filled her eyes. "…it was black everywhere…and cold…very cold…I-I-I s-saw…r-ran…th-there was so much blood…" she stammered as he stroked her hair.

She clamed down eventually to tell him about her dream and unfortunately, he simply patted her head. "I'll be back," he said softly as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Pl-please don't le-leave me…stay…until I f-fall asleep."

He squinted at the door and sighed, pulling off his coat as he crawled closer to her, his large body exuding more heat than a radiator. She shivered and turned, pressing her face into his chest.

It was as she fell asleep that she realized he didn't have a heartbeat and he didn't breathe.


	4. Chapter 4

Dark Angel

04

Chloe didn't want to even _begin _to think of how Derek (that's what she decided to call him) convinced her dad and Aunt Lauren that he was an exchange student and he'd be taking residence with them.

"So you're still not talking to me?" he asked as Chloe pulled on her shoes with a wince. _No, _she thought as she squinted her eyes against the bright light shining into the room through the window, _I'm not because you lied and told me you were an angel. _

"I guess that answers your question," Lauren quipped in her nasally I'm Watching You tone as she exited the bathroom, still drying her hands. Ever since announcing he'd be a permanent resident, she'd grown rude and chilling towards him and Chloe had a sneaking suspicion that the doctor was afraid he'd take her niece away from her. She was the closest to a daughter that the older woman had; with no kids, it must've been a really lonely life after her husband, Joshua, died in duty.

Lauren scowled at him before she left, claiming she'd get the car.

With a heavy sigh, Derek stood and turned, facing the window. "Chloe," he murmured, pressing a hand against the glass and she watched in rapt fascination as frost crept across the surface from his fingertips. "I—"

"There you are!" yelled a loud, shrill voice as the door slammed open, revealing a golden-skinned girl with spiky red hair, a massive grin eating at her mouth. "Who's the hunk?" Beth whispered, peering at him with dark, almond-shaped eyes from under her fringe. "That's uh—" Chloe stammered as Derek turned away from the glass and slinked closer. She blinked hard. "I'm Derek," he said calmly as he tucked his hands into his pockets, rocking back onto his heels. His trench coat fluttered around his ankles.

"Are you her boyfriend?" Kari asked, batting her long eyelashes at him as she tried not to burst into laughter. Everyone who came in contact with her knew Beth and Kari had been an item for as long as they could remember.

"W-what? N-no!" Chloe blurted. "You act like to date me would be the worst thing ever, Chloe." When she looked over her shoulder, she saw the smirk on his pink mouth and smothered the urge to smack his pale cheek. Beth eyeballed him, measuring him up and Chloe held her breath.

"I'll kick your ass if you hurt her," the dark-haired girl said as easily as asking for the time. She stood rigidly, arms crossed over her chest while her mouth disappeared into the neck of her turtleneck. "Are we ready to go?" Steve popped his head in, smiling softly.

"Yeah," Chloe muttered, reaching back for her coat. When she realized she forgot to ask Lauren to grab it, Derek brushed passed her as something landed around her shoulders. It took her several minutes to realize it was his coat, several hundred sizes too big for her but warm. Her face burned as Kari made a circle with one hand and slid a finger into the space of the circle with the other. "Stop it," Beth told her, grabbing her girlfriend's shoulder.

Chloe scrabbled forward and followed behind Derek, staring at his back and wondering why he'd been dropped into her life. Whatever the reason was, she hoped he didn't become too much trouble.

oOo

"We have plenty of guest rooms," Steve was saying as he drove, Chloe curled up under blankets in the middle seat, Lauren fiddling with the radio in the passenger seat, and Derek quietly staring at his hands.

"Thank you, sir," he said softly as Lauren glanced back at them, narrowing her eyes at him. Chloe rolled her eyes. "How are you feeling?" Derek asked. "I'm fine," she muttered, resting her chin on top of her knees. "Where are you from?" Lauren twisted around in her seat.

"Albany." Derek's green eyes looked far away.

"Oh. Why are you in Buffalo?" She wrinkled her nose at him.

He shrugged. "Dad's job."

"What does he do?" Her nails dug crescent marks into the armrest.

"Are we going to play twenty questions for the entire ride?" he sighed, cracking his knuckles. Lauren scowled at him. "I'm just trying to get to know our exchange student," she said sharply. "My name is Derek. I'm sixteen. That's all you really need to know," he muttered. Her mouth pinched as she glared at him and turned back around, returning to messing with the radio.

He rested his elbow on the door handle and held up his head, staring out the window. His reflection was striking; all high cheekbones and deep set eyes, long black lashes and pouty lips. Shadows cut across the left half of his face as the sun shone through Chloe's window and, for some reason, she found herself staring at him, memorizing his surprisingly exotic features.

While she sat there, trying to decipher whether or not his eyebrows were brown or black, his eyes moved, flitting to hers. In the transparent reflection, she saw herself, big blue eyes and messy curly, hiding in a mountain of blankets and afghans. Beside her, Derek was all green eyes and tousled hair, a smile on his lips, as tiny and secretive as it was.

"You should get some sleep," she croaked out, her voice raspy in the silence. "Yeah," he murmured although he didn't make a move to sleep; his throaty voice didn't have a hint of exhaustion to it. He just kept staring out the window, blinking ever so often, unmoving like a statue.

"You should sleep," he told her after a few hours of window gazing; she started out of mindless one-woman hangman on a piece of notebook paper. She looked up quickly and her face flamed like jalapenos at their proximity, his nose brushing hers as he said it, his hot, damp breath touching her cheeks.

"You had a very rough day," he continued, brushing a curl away from her eyes. She could feel him, the solid muscle just inches away from her, the heat he was radiating. She glanced outside, to clam herself down, only to be struck by how beautiful it was. The sky was dark blue and purple bleeding into each other, a splash of colorful backdrop to the stars beginning to emerge as the sun set to the west, the dying light of pastel pink and orange casting a glow to the fluffy clouds.

"It's beautiful," she said.

He looked at her for a very long time. "Just like you," he whispered. "Sleep," he told her as she bit back a yawn. Scooping up a sweater off the floor, he dusted it off and folded it before placing it on his shoulder.

"Go ahead, I don't bite." His lips seemed to twitch into a smile as she settled her head there. His arm slid into hers, his hand resting on her leg.

"From what I hear," she whispered, already half asleep, "that's a good thing."

The last thing she heard was a rumble that sounded suspiciously like a laugh and she forgave him for lying just a tiny bit.


	5. Chapter 5

Dark Angel

05

Chloe woke up to the smell of cooked meat and seasonings. Her eyes blearily looked up and saw the familiar poster of Stephen King's _The Shining. _"Oh, you're up." Her head lifted, swinging towards the door, and a tall, dark silhouette blocked out the hallway light, casting a long shadow across the floor. She narrowed her eyes, squinting passed the bright, yellow light. For a minute, it looked like an angel, with large wings and feathers scattered around the head.

When she blinked again, she realized it was Derek, leaning against her doorframe, holding a plate. "Yeah." She yawned as he ducked into the room, looking deliciously ruffled, his eyes reflecting the light. She ran her tongue along her teeth, tasting the sleep in her mouth; he stepped closer, noiselessly though, like some sort of predator, creeping close.

"Did you sleep alright?" he asked, setting the plate on her nightstand. He looked fresh in a black sweatshirt and ripped jeans; handsome with damp hair and flushed cheeks. "Yeah." It seemed like he wanted to say more, maybe, but he didn't and once the plate was settled, he headed back out the door. "Thanks," she blurted quickly, holding the blanket to her chest quickly.

"No problem."

The door closed softly behind him and she sat there, knees up, eyes on the wood until she saw red and blue afterimages. Blinking them away, she kicked away the blankets and took the plate, squinting at the food. The burger smelled delicious and the fries looked extra crispy. She shook her head and took a bite. It was better than McDonalds.

oOo

"So you're in the guest room?" She sat on the bed, lying upside down off the edge, staring up at the ceiling. Derek was leaning against her dresser, a trashcan wedged between his thighs, whittling at a piece of wood. The shavings filled up the trashcan as she watched a fly try to navigate onto her fan.

"Yeah," he muttered, pausing in whittling to push back his long hair. "Where's all your stuff though?" She pushed herself upright and draped herself across on her stomach instead. Blinking, he looked up at her and their eyes met, like sea and land, sky and leaves. "Although True Angels are much more complex at it, the Fallen can bring things out of the Warp and into reality." At the blank look she gave him, he sighed and set down his pocketknife, tucking it into the breast pocket of his surplus army jacket.

"And where do you get your clothes? You don't work." An idea flitted across her brain but he shot her an exasperated glare. "I may be Fallen but I'm not a thief. Before I stumbled across you years ago—" Apparently, he'd said the wrong thing.

"_Years?" _Chloe shrieked, rocking herself off balance and nearly cracking her head open on the corner of her nightstand. Too fast for her eyes to track even more than a blur, Derek caught her by the waist, her chin supported on his broad shoulder. Once righted, she grabbed his shoulder. "You've been watching me _for years_?" she exploded at him and he calmly uncurled her fingers from the fabric of his jacket.

Sighing, he dusted off his hands. "Yes. I've been alive far longer than most humans live. Of course, years ago, I had a job, a few months after I was Stripped and Cast." "Stripped and Cast?" His eyes darkened into woodland forests, shadows dancing. "That's what the Fallen call the process of Falling. First, they rip out your wings and then they push you off, like a damn baby bird." He took a deep breath. "I worked there for maybe five years before I felt a tugging. It was like a silvery thread connected through my chest, knotted right between my blades."

Obviously uncomfortable, he shifted and cleared his throat. A pink scar gleamed on his throat, close to his Adam's Apple. Chloe kicked off her sneakers and joined him on the floor. "Anyway, I have some money from a few jobs over the years. Plus, even though I'm Fallen, He gave us the gracious ability to keep our Warp abilities."

"What's the Warp?"

He sighed and leaned against the dresser, letting his head fall backwards. He looked unearthly, with hair and his pale skin, almost like a magazine picture, Photoshopped to perfection, that mouthwatering beauty that had girls flocking to catch a glimpse of him. Her face flamed. "It's a space between His dimension and Earth's. Angels and the like can access it with their willpower, drawing the things they create out into reality and it will be there until it's not needed."

"So like…like a portal?"

"Kind of."

"What about demons?"

Derek's face grew dark and his eyes appeared black. "What of them? They're scum, nothing more than a nuisance to the Fallen, meddling in things they have no business in viewing. I will kill them all, until they are extinct." His voice was low and sent chills down her spine. Sitting there, arms wound tightly around her drawn up knees, she shifted from side to side. "Like the dinosaurs."

"Ah, yes. Brachiosaurus and Clidastes and Tyrannosaurus Rex." At the faraway look on his face, she reeled back. "How old _are_ you?" she asked, looked for wrinkles but found none. He couldn't have been much older than her. He snuck her a sly look. "An Angel never reveals his age." Scowling, she crawled back onto the bed and snatched up a throw pillow, hugging it to her chest. As Derek relaxed and peeled off his jacket, Chloe let her mind wander.

_How long _do _Angels live anyway, Fallen or otherwise? Wait, you don't _actually _believe he's an Angel; he's _obviously _schizophrenic! I mean, he _lied _to you and your family and he's probably gonna end up like that hitchhiker guy from Texas Chainsaw. Or he could be completely harmless, needing a place to stay, just like Ben did once when Mom was alive. _At the thought Jennifer, her throat tightened and she closed her eyes against the onslaught of tears that threatened to spill out.

"Here."

When she lifted her head, she yelped at the small, dark shape that was hurled at her. Without another word, Derek turned and walked away, pulling his jacket back on. On the way out, he paused and adjusted his shirt, revealing something black on his chest. It looked like part of tattoo. When he caught her staring, his eyes narrowed and he stalked away, slamming the door behind him.

She uncurled her fingers and stared at the wooden figure in her hand, in the shape of a wolf with a skull perched on its head, like some tribal warrior. On the back was some sort of language, a bunch of weird almost Greek looking ones, and when she closed her eyes, she saw the words _the dark wolf protects the white necromancer _scrawled across the backs of her lids_. _Shaking it off, she chucked it into her top dresser drawer and didn't give it another thought.

Maybe she should've. 


	6. Chapter 6

Dark Angel

06

She hated the drop. Always falling, falling and never stopping. Someone screaming for her, screaming her name, but it's so hard to hear over her own sobbing and screaming, over the wind whipping past her ears, rushing at her eyes and making them sting.

And then, so abruptly and violent, it stopped. A thread hung around her wrist, yanking, like a rope around her throat. She was suspended. The blackness was crawling up her legs, tendrils sticking to her, staining her skin pale blue where they peeled away. Her shoulder burned where the muscles pulled, twisting as she kicked her feet. Around her, it was blacker than night. Wet droplets of what felt like thick, sticky rain pelted her, soaking her dress thoroughly.

"_Chloe_," taunted a voice darkly. Her stomach squirmed, twisted, flipping and folding in on itself. Something touched her hair, weaving through it. An icy cold hugged her back, an arm winding around her waist. The thread holding her wrist was cutting into her skin, blood oozing. Her arm was throbbing as the thing, person, whatever the hell it was, rocked them, throwing its weight against her. "_So pretty, so very pretty, like a bird,_" the thing whispered dangerously in her ear. A gust of frigid air hit her cheek and she reeled back, sending herself spinning.

Her hand had gone numb and something in her wrist popped. Pain exploded and she cried out. "_Let's see if you can fly like one, pretty girl,_" the voice whispered as something cold, like a finger almost, trailed down her cheek, gouging a long line that sent her skin prickling. She screamed, long, loud and shrilly, and the thread holding her mid-air snapped. The rushing sensation of falling filled her as the air ripped at her, tearing at her hair, stinging her skin and eyes, drawing tears to her lashes. "_Fly. Fly like a pretty bird, you stupid girl!_" demanded the voice but she couldn't.

The worst part was being unable to see the ground. It was almost as bad the falling, blinded by tears and the wind eating at her. She tried to squint, hoping to _glimpse _the ground before she smacked into it. "_I said fly, damn it_!" the voice screamed and something bulldozed into her side, sending her sidelong. Her head cracked against something and hot seeped down her forehead. Stars exploded in her eyes as she scraped her leg and arm against the rough surface.

"_Little bitch can't fly,_" commented a new voice. It sounded female. Chloe's head pounded in time with her heartbeat as she hit the ground hard. Pain burst inside her, dazzling sparkles and she lay there for the longest time, her burning cheek against the cool tiles. Every inch of her body ached and throbbed and she felt like she was falling apart, her skin breaking apart and blood spilling around her, her heart flopping weakly in a desperate attempt to keep her abused body from dying, waves sloshing around her head.

"_Is she still alive?_" Something poked her, hard, right in the shoulder. White-hot pinpricks stabbed Chloe. "_Yeah_." A hand fisted her hair. She felt her head be pulled up and winced as the long talons dug in. Warmth seeped across her scalp, dripped down her neck in a thick stream. "_Wake up, bitchy birdy,_" snapped the first voice. A palm slapped across her face and the shock made her body jolt, her eyes wide in surprise.

"_Oh, yeah. She's _wide _awake._" A laugh bounced around them. Chloe weakly kicked her legs out and yelped as she was shaken, a bright light flashing and illuminating everything. They were in a…cemetery? There was a boy, with dark curls and a wicked grin, his free hand balled into a fist while his other one was grasping her hair. Something black and faint crawled up his arms, like fading ink.

The girl was pretty, with butterscotch skin and large breasts, full lips and long braids the color of copper wire. She had her hands out and Chloe panicked when she saw the talons in place of fingers, black like charcoal and fading into the tan on her arms.

"Oh my god," Chloe gasped out as the boy brought his fist back and then let it fly, sailing in a perfectly smooth arc. The loud crack of his knuckles hitting her cheek sent her backwards, elbows hitting the edges of gravestones. When she finally stopped rolling, her head was spinning and her mouth tasted like blood, like rusty pennies. Her wrist screamed in pain as she laid there, dead grass digging into her skin. Behind her, she heard the screams and they made her waterlogged head slosh about on her shoulders.

Bile rose and she vomited where she sat, the hot mess spilling over her fingertips and her knees, stinging the cuts. Her throat was raw, too raw for her to scream as she was kicked, her face hitting the edge of a gravestone. She slipped in the pile of vomit and hit the ground. _Make it stop, _she thought, her eyes blurry with tears.

When Chloe looked up, the dark-haired boy was leaning over her, grinning from ear to ear. He was beautiful, with sharp cheeks and almond eyes, set deep in his skull and a strong jaw line, curls in gorgeous disarray around his face but there was something off about his expression. "_Pray all you want_," he said calmly, mockingly, his tone condescending. "_God won't help you_."

His caramel skin began to bubble, slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. His foot came down on her throat and she kicked weakly, tears rolling like rivers of salt water, her mind coming up blank. The bubbling grew worse and worse, until those little pockets burst. Black sprayed on her cheeks, dripped onto his jaw. All his skin was squirming, bunching and rippling. It began to peel away in huge, wet chunks, revealing an inky mass beneath. Her stomach lurched.

She watched in horror as more and more of his skin plopped and landed on her, burning holes through her thin hospital gown. Something moaned behind her and her skin prickled, little hairs on her body standing at attention. The boy smiled wider, cheeks splitting open, wounds gaping wide. His teeth were stained with chunks of flesh and blood, growing sharp, like ivory knives.

Her shrill screaming shattered the images into fragments of glass and brought Chloe into reality. The room was dimly lit, cold as ice, and her bedsheets were soaked. She looked down and a cold rush of panic flooded her. There was blood all over the sheets, her thighs and nightshirt sticky, the sheets clinging to her legs.

But then, blinking hard and feeling around, she realized she'd only started her period. After cleaning up, sticking her sheets in the laundry sink to rinse out the red, and sliding back under her extra set of bedspread, Chloe stared at the wall, unable to sleep.

The monsters would get her.


	7. Chapter 7

Dark Angel

07

The dreams continued. Every night, when her eyelids fluttered closed, there was the boy again, foot crushing her windpipes slowly as blobs of charred flesh burnt through her hospital gown. Sometimes the things behind her, rising out of the earth abruptly, clawed at her back, talons digging in, sharp teeth piercing and drawing blood. When they did, oh her skin boiled and bubbled, blood running hotter than fire underneath the surface of her skin. Other times, the talon-hand girl would grab Chloe by the hair and inch-by-inch slice off her curls; with her hair out of the way; Rae was free to slowly make incisions into the soft, pudgy skin on her cheek.

Slumped over her breakfast of eggs, Chloe nearly dislocated her jaw with the huge yawn she let out. Rubbing her eyes sleepily, she picked at the yellow insides of her breakfast and an elbow dug into her side, sending her jack-knifing upright. Blinking blearily, she looked up, eyes struggling to focus. Derek's face filled her vision, his green eyes too. Pieces of his hair tickled her face as he poked his fork at her, waving the last forkful of his chicken at her.

"Huh? What?" she asked, leaning away, which wasn't the greatest idea because she tipped over the chair, knocking herself off balance. Flailing for a grip on the table, she struggled to retain her balance. Hooking his foot around the leg of her chair, Derek yanked her back on all four legs, making her teeter back and forth.

"You were nearly asleep in your food," he pointed out like it was an everyday occurrence, a playful glint in his green eyes as he waved his fork at her, flecks of chicken hitting her cheeks faintly. Red-faced, she turned her face away and scooted back a bit. In response, his foot still hooked around the leg of her chair, he pulled her forward, their knees touching. He was closer than they'd ever been, even when he was rushing after her.

_Really close. _She pulled away. "Have you not been sleeping?" His intensely green eyes were focused on her; solely her, and his breath was warm, fanning across her face. For a minute, she froze, torn between admitting the terrifying dreams and denying them. His hand, the width of her cheek, splayed across her knee, burning through the fabric of her pajama pants.

"I-I—" She sputtered, struggling to get her words out. "I'm guessing that's a yes," he said calmly, his thumb digging in painfully. He scooted closer, knee bumping hers. "Bad dreams," she muttered, lowering her eyes. "Tell me." He was leaning forward now, forearms braced on his knees but his hand remained on her knee. "Tell me so I can help you."

"I-I—" To her horror, her eyes filled with hot tears. She opened her mouth, lifting her eyes away from his so as not to be so embarrassed about bawling in front of him, but nothing came out. Tears filled and filled and fell, carving hollow trails into her cheeks. "It's okay." He was wrapping his hard, heavy arms around her, slowly and gently rubbing up and down her back.

For the longest time, they just sat there, Chloe wrapped in his arms, bawling like a baby. She forgot about everything, him lying to her about being an Angel and his identity, Lauren's distrust of him. She just cried and cried, thick, hot tears pouring down her cheeks, one after another, her throat aching and dry heaves made her pull away, a string of snot dripping down her face.

He pressed a napkin against her nose, gently wiping. "I'm sorry. What about the trinket I gave you?" His voice rumbled in her ear. She shied away. "It's in my dresser."

"That's why you're having the dreams. The trauma of almost dying has buried itself in your brain and is coming out subconsciously," he said to her, calmly; with his finger, he wiped away her tears, fingertips digging in.

"Chloe?"

Faster than she could track, Derek leapt back, out of his chair, into the kitchen, carrying his empty plate like nothing had happened. She stared at his back—broad, muscular, shoulders jutting out with every step—and then turned back to her aunt, wearing rumpled scrubs. Lauren had obviously just gotten off work, if the tired look on her greyish face was any indication.

When she noticed Derek, her blue-grey eyes narrowed in like a predator's. With a stiff, angry stride, she stalked in, slapping her gym bag onto the table. The cutlery squealed, vibrating with the impact. Derek glanced up, calmly, from loading up the dishwasher. "Hello," he greeted calmly, tucking the snot-damp napkin into the trash like nothing was wrong as he kicked the dishwasher door closer with the back of his heel.

"Hi." The greeting was short and spat through clenched teeth as she squinted at the boy. "Chloe, what's wrong?" Now those eyes were pinning Chloe to the seat, staring her down fiercely, asking silently _what did Derek do? _Sputtering for a response, Derek clashing and banging in the kitchen more than necessary, Chloe managed, "Allergies."

She sniffled for effect and mock sneezed, hoping her aunt bought the lie. Lauren's bony shoulders twitched in annoyance and disbelief as her eyes narrowed even more, like she could see right through Chloe's flimsy lie. Red-faced, Chloe pushed to her feet and stumbled into the kitchen. Derek steadied her with a hand on her back.

"Hang it up over your bed. That'll help the dreams." He was close, the smell of his shampoo—musky and fresh, cool and minty—filling her lungs and she swayed for a long minute. "Y-yeah. Don't worry. I will." They shared a small smile, his teeth gleaming and bright white before he plucked the plate from her hands and scooped the rest of her eggs into his mouth. She couldn't help the nasally laugh that left her if she tried.

"I'm gonna go shower."

That was Lauren code for _don't try to feel Chloe up while I'm gone _and they heard her stomp up the stairs as noisily as possible, drawing attention to her obvious presence. Chloe glanced at Derek, nibbling her lip. "I've gotta go." He offered a little quirk of his mouth before he swept his jacket on and left, door slamming behind him, shaking the windows and pictures.

Once the pipes started shrieking and rattling, Chloe crept into the garage, found the rusty hammer and a tubaware container full of crooked nails. With Lauren in the shower, she went to her room, picked a moderately straight nail and hammered it in above her headboard. Climbing down off her bed, the blonde rifled in the drawer and found the little charm, tying a shoelace around it for a makeshift tie.

Then, quietly, she slipped the little noose over the head of the nail and admired it. In the light, swinging from being hung, it gleamed.


	8. Chapter 8

Dark Angel

08

The world outside was pitch-black and dead silent when Derek snuck back in. The only reason Chloe noticed is because she was sitting in the TV room, flipping through reruns of late-night sitcoms. The grandfather struck three in the morning, bellowing loudly as he peeled off his jacket and shuffled passed the couch.

"Where were you?" she asked before she could stop herself, hitting the mute button on the remote and then she turned on a light. The first note of a gasp barely passed her lips before he was on her like a wild animal, pressing her into the cushions, his knees digging into her hips. Wide-eyed, she gaped up at him. He looked, quite frankly, like hell.

His hair was messy and choppy, like someone had hacked at it with kitchen shears in a dark room. Bruises covered his cheeks and ran under the collar of his shirt, wrapped around his arms. One eye was swollen shut; his lip was split down the middle and his top lip was bruised and torn. His open eye was bloodshot. Blood dripped down his nose and his clothes were torn and dirty. Dirt and red stained his jeans, where cuts shone through from the rips, and flashes of tantalizing dark skin teased her from within the strips of his shirt.

"Keep your mouth shut, Chloe. Don't scream," he hissed, good eye flashing dangerously and, for a split second, she was reminded of a wounded wolf she saw at a zoo, snarling at the others. She wretched her head back and the thought scattered into droplets of worry. "I wasn't screaming. I was gasping. What happened? Who did this?" Derek looked away, his jaw taut, and she knew she wouldn't get an answer out of him.

"It doesn't matter. I'll go get the first aid kit. Come on. I don't need Aunt Lauren or Dad freaking out over blood on the couch." She forced herself up off the couch and then wheeled, offering her hands to him, palm up. He hesitated before taking them and grunted as she yanked him up. His hands were rough and sweaty, blazing against hers, feverish. His cheeks look unnaturally red, flushed with a blood blush.

"I'm not a baby. I can take care of myself," he said, pulling his hands away.

"You left this morning, Derek. You didn't come home until three in the morning. Jesus." She dragged a hand down her face as she led the way to the bathroom. He was awfully quiet, and it was difficult to even hear him breathing. "At least tell me what happened," she suggested in a light voice as she started passed the staircase. No answer. When she turned around, she saw the guest room door closing, cutting off the rays of light.

Anger ignited in her veins. Here she was, trying to help his sorry ass, and he just ditches her? She stalked back and ripped open the door. "Jesus, don't be a prick. I'm just trying—" He was nearly naked, save for a pair of tight boxers, but that wasn't what stopped the words. It was his back, smooth and muscular and covered in bruises. She stared and stared, wide-eyed.

Tucked loose against his spine, wiggling weakly like a half-dead animals, were two black wings, feathers shuddering off with every flap. The smell coming from them was hot and musky, not quite decaying flesh but close to it. "What's this? What the hell _are _you?" she blurted.

He turned, slowly, and sat down slowly. "I've told and told you," he stated and flexed his shoulders. Feathers blew across the room in a powerful gust of wind that blew her curls away and sliced through her pajamas but when she looked around, everything was still. A trace of a smile touched his mouth, but his eyes remained colder than artic winds. Her head spun with the surrealism of standing in the guest room with an angel—scratch that, a _fallen _angel.

Something in her stomach curled up and squeezed hard. A wave of panic washed over her and she stumbled. The wings fluttered again, knocking her further off balance and she crashed to the floor. Her chest grew tighter and tighter as she struggled not to cry. Sharp prickles of heat stabbed behind her eyes, painful, as she stared up at him with a newfound panic. Derek rose slowly and something about his stance made her freeze, so predatory and deliberate, like he _wanted _to scare her.

"I'm going crazy," she whispered and a slow torrent of hot tears splashed down her cheeks, making her skin splotchy with heat. She watched as his expression softened a fraction of an inch and then he leaned down, right up in her face. He was watching her with both eyes and the swelling on the black eye had gone down significantly, enough to let him open it.

"No," he murmured, cupping her cheek to trace the cupid's bow of her top lips gently with his thumb, "you aren't." They froze like that, him on one knee, wings out, and her, clinging to his leg as his hand brushed her lips over and over.

Her lids bobbed, sleepiness taking effect. "Sh, I've got you." His breath tickled her ear as his hard, feverish arms wrapped around her, pulling her up against his chest. "Wha…you…do?" she managed to ask through exhausted lips, her lids half-mast and her hand weakly tapping his right pectoral. "Nothing." She squinted, struggling to keep her eyes open. There was a little quirk in the line of his mouth.

He obviously did something. "Sleep." It wasn't a request or an order; it sounded more like a suggestion. She pressed her cheek against his chest; barely registering the already healing, pink flesh of the cuts she'd seen earlier gleaming with blood. He was still burning hot.

Feverish, almost.

Fever.

She pulled away and blinked back the wisps of sleep that tugged at her. "You have a fever. Let me down! We need to—" She kicked her legs but, much to her annoyance, his grip tightened, fingertips digging in.

"Chloe." His voice was too close.

"—Bring it down. You're burning up and you didn't think to tell me a _fucking_ word, did you?" She twisted to face him and stared at his calm face, a tiny twinkle in his eye.

"Chloe." He sounded exasperated now, a bit amused too. When he smirked a bit, she scowled.

"Go shove a stick up your ass," she muttered to his amused tone.


	9. Chapter 9

Dark Angel

09

"My body runs a lot hotter than your mortals'," Derek explained during the week after he came back one night at three in the morning, bloody and bruised, while Chloe watched TV quietly. She hugged a pillow against her stomach, hoping to calm her stabbing cramps as she shifted, the pad chaffing the inside of her thighs.

On the screen, a pack of skinny wolves ripped into a deer they'd caught, guts flying, blood staining their dusty fur. The herd bounced away, leaving the littlest deer by itself to be devoured by the starving wolves. _That's nature, survival of the fittest, _she thought dimly, eyes glued to the screen as Derek slid onto the seat beside her, his knee knocking into hers.

It was hard to ignore him; every time he stepped into the room, everyone's eyes followed him, admiring his tall, broad frame and masculine features arranged in a heartbreaking manner. "The wolves tear into their prey, eager for a meal after a long, dry season with small prey," the narrator said, his accent thick. The camera panned out, showing off gleaming shots of snow-covered terrain and barren trees shivering in the wind.

"How hot are you?" Chloe asked as the program ended, black credit page splashed across the screen and then the white text with the crew. He leaned back against the couch, unfolding his long, black-clad legs, and stroked his white fingers across his darkly stubbled chin. His eyes slid shut, lips pursed in concentration, a crease between his brows gauging in his skin. "One hundred eight," he answered calmly. Her mouth dropped open in shock, eyes bugging. "O-One hundred e-eight? You should be dead!" she blurted. A little smile, a ghost of one, crossed his mouth.

"Angels, even fallen ones, all run hot. We aren't exactly _alive _so it's not that much of a problem; we don't really interact with humans unless we need to. The excuse is that we've been running or something along those lines." He shrugged calmly, as though every day boys told her they weren't alive. "So you're, like, a vampire?" Chloe's thin eyebrows drew together. He laughed a booming laugh that made her jump in surprise, dropping the pillow. "Hardly. For one, we don't sparkle; two, we don't crave blood, well, maybe some of us but that's beside the point; and three, while we _are _dead, we do not cause mass hysteria or die when we're burned." He smiled sadly. "Killing an angel takes a lot of guts."

"So does killing a vampire. What _else _is there?" She threw him a shrewd look, and he sighed deeply, crossing his arms. After a long silence, he rose fluidly and crossed to the TV, tapping the glass. And then he sat down, right there on the floor. "Werewolves, vampires, demons, banshees." Surprise laced her voice when she spoke again. "Werewolves? As in _Jacob Black_? Do they really turn into wolves? Are they really that big?" Derek held up a huge hand, fighting back a smile. "Yes, as in…ugh…Twilight." His lip curled in a sneer. "And actually, yes. Although, they aren't quite as big as a horse, unlike the Hollywood and Stephanie Meyer's imagination. They're the same size as a normal wolf, fantasy or not." He frowned suddenly. "Granted, I've never met an actual pup, but Tori—"

"Tori," Chloe breathed and shot off the couch to her feet, stumbling when she knocked her leg into the coffee table fiercely. As she rubbed away the heated blush of blood rushing to the surface of her knee, Derek lurched upright faster than she could've tracked with her measly human eyes and caught her in his arms, his hands clutching her biceps. "What about her?" His hot, peanut-buttery breath ghosted across her face, blowing back little strands of her hair out of her forehead. "I-I need to call her," Chloe gasped out, feeling the room spin faintly and he set her back down, knee tucked between her thighs to nudge her down. "I haven't s-spoken to her si-since…" She trailed off, focusing on the phone in its cradle, mocking her. Forcing herself to breathe in through her nose, out through her mouth, she relaxed against the back of the couch.

"Since the hospital? Chloe, that was _months _ago," he soothed gently, standing up. "I know. Th-that's why I want to c-call her," she said softly, "I didn't realize it until now." Gnawing her lip, a huge breath gusted out of her nostrils. "I can call her, if you'd like," he said, calmly, as though he dealt with hysterical girls everyday, and his hands trailed across her curls almost tenderly.

He swept the back of his hand across the smooth dome of her cheek, almost sensually, as though he was attempting to seduce her. His lashes were light brown, she realized, flecks of gold and brown in his grass-green eyes that made them even greener, almost like toxic waste. "Are you alright? Do you need water?" If she leaned up just the slightest, they'd be kissing and somehow, the idea made her shrink away. She hardly knew _anything _about him. He was crazy, delusional, maybe; he might've even been extremely dangerous. Her vision tunneled and she struggled to breathe, trying to force oxygen in and out of her lungs. His warm, nearly scalding hands, touched her, one hand in her hair, one hand on her hip. The heat of his touch burned through the fabric of her sweater and sweats, straight to the bone; it was like touching hot concrete on a dry summer day.

"I-I'm…" she started, frazzled as his big, green eyes got closer and closer, his lashes brushing hers, nose pressed against hers and he was close, his thighs touching hers, knee wedged against her knee. The door down the hall rattled and wheezed as it scraped across the floor. "Chloe?" Lauren's sneakers squeaked as she shoved the door shut, using all her weight because it liked to stick due to a botched paint job. In the blink of an eye, Derek was across the room, in the kitchen, rattling for a cup. Chloe blinked, trying to gather her thoughts to form a coherent sentence.

"What's wrong?" Lauren asked, dumping her keys into the little glass bowl on the dining room table, as she noticed Chloe's vacant expression. "Cramps," the blonde managed with a weak voice and stumbled to her room. Once inside, she flopped on top of the bed, and curled up.

Her stomach hurt worse than it did this morning, when she woke up tangled in bloody sheets.


	10. Chapter 10

Dark Angel

10

It was hard to deny that Chloe didn't think Derek was attractive—smoking hot really—but her league and his league were spheres separated by an ocean. Where she had the whole innocent, girl next-door vibe going on, he oozed pure danger and masculinity. Every time he walked into the same room as her, she'd get flushed, thinking of the almost kiss last week, but he seemed oblivious to the fact that _he _was the cause of her incessant flushes. Of course, he was oblivious to most things. Girls, for example. Unlike the dirt-bags at her school, he never used his looks to get his way; in fact, she was certain that he didn't see himself as beautiful, or even remotely cute for that matter. He probably saw himself as average, which was a huge understatement.

The girls at school suddenly wanted to be Chloe's best friend when Derek showed up to pick her up in the beat-up Cadillac; she could see the hearts in their eyes when they saw his muscles and the way his ass filled out his jeans and the allure of his thin, hard-set mouth. Every inch of him screamed danger, but when she was with him, she never felt that way, despite him being totally crazy. It must've been a delayed reaction, because she was thinking about the deteriorating wings she'd seen at the hospital and re-evaluating everything they'd ever done together. From him leaning over her, his face flushed from the cold temperature, to the quiet talk in the hospital and Tori's fluttering (but obviously a figment of Chloe's hypothermic mind) wings, to the Incident, as she began lovingly referring to it. Sure, she was flattered but couldn't help but think he had an ulterior motive for wanting to kiss her. Maybe he just wanted to get inside her pants, but she quickly crossed that one out; unlike the boys she'd briefly dated, he wasn't all groping hands and unwanted tongues.

_He's crazy, but harmless, _she reassured herself as the last period bell rang and everyone rushed out the door, shoving passed her. Rolling her eyes, she took a left at the intersecting hallway and noticed a cluster of tall girls hanging around the doors that led to the student parking lot. Maybe there was a fight.

When she managed to get open a door, she blinked in surprise to find Royce Banks getting up in Derek's face, beet red with anger, and a vein bulging in his golden-skinned bicep. Despite having such a sweet and adoring younger brother, Royce was the epitome of high school guys everywhere. His uncle, a plastic surgeon named Todd, was loaded and he made sure everyone knew it, flashing the latest high-market phone every chance that he got, and challenging anyone who didn't bow down his "superiority" (aka his uncle's money). Event he teachers knew better than to cross him, since his uncle has friends in high places and lots of connections he wasn't afraid to use. His hair, normally slicked back with hair gel that wouldn't look out of place in the early thirties, was wild and messy, a crazed look in his eyes as he spewed obscenities and insults at Derek, one right after another. A tall, curvy black girl with muscular thighs stepped up to him; Chloe recognized the girl as Rae Rodgers, captain of the varsity soccer team, a straight-A student with a strict moral code about rules and setting examples to the younger generation. Chloe couldn't tell what Rae said but Royce backed off a few inches, look disgruntled, and she walked away, her coppery braids swinging behind her; the eager crowd swallowed her up. The minute the black girl turned away, Royce swung on his heel, pivoting with the speed of a pitcher, and threw a solid arch at Derek's face.

Without realizing it, Chloe screamed his name. Heads turned in surprise as the rich boy's fist continued its collision course with the Fallen's face. Of course, Derek being Derek caught the fist a few inches away from his face, his expression cool and untroubled, although his green eyes darkened when he noticed Chloe standing in the wide berth the other students had given them. Royce noticed too and pulled his hand away with a bit of difficulty. Chloe stood there, frozen for a long, painful minute, before she scampered forward, aware of all the curious eyes staring at her, boring holes into her back, and ignored Royce when he tried to step into her path. Anger flashed behind his eyes as she stumbled up to Derek and asked him, in a tiny, meek voice, if he was all right. "I'm alright, but I'd be even better if you got into the car."

"L-let's j-ju-ust go home," she pleaded, fear making her teeth chatter, and the crowd slowly leaked away, a puddle of teenagers sliding away in all directions. Rae spotted them and bee-lined for them. "You better not get into another fight," she hissed at Royce as she brushed passed him loud enough to be heard by anyone. A few kids lingered. Some teacher peeked out the windows, curious. Ignoring the hateful glare he was giving to her back and the rude hand gesture, she bent down (Chloe was nowhere near as tall as her) and asked if they were all right. "Y-yeah," Chloe managed to squeak. "Just a bit—"

"Hey! Bitch!" Royce yelled and hurled something at Rae's back, a blur of silver, and Derek's hand shot out at lightening speed and caught it. It was a rock, about the size of a folded bill, and heavy, with a ragged edge and point. It could've broken the skin. Without another word, he hurled it back, only faster and with more force behind the pitch, and the rock missed Royce's eye by inches, scratching him from the corner of his eye to his temple. Fury rolled off him in huge waves and Chloe actually felt a little scared for him because if he fought Derek, she knew without a doubt who would win. "Let's go," Chloe begged and they offered Rae a ride home, which she gladly took as a bus rider, and they all scrambled in.

Royce scowled at them in the mirror as Derek peeled out and, in the rearview mirror, very carefully, flipped them off. Without thinking, Chloe stuck her fist out of the window and flipped him the bird.


	11. Chapter 11

Dark Angel

11

After the weeks following the incident with Royce Banks, Chloe found the dreams had begun to resurface, first in wisps and then in good chunks. The chunks were filled with burning fingers digging into her cheeks, the taste of blood in her mouth. She woke up screaming most nights, her throat dry and full of cold air as she sat there shivering, sweat dripping down her face in rivulets. Gasping for breath, she shuddered and pushed back strands of hair away from her face, blinking back the hot tears that flooded her eyes. As a result of her nightmares, she could barely stay awake during the day, even falling asleep while she practiced driving around the cul-de-sac.

Her appearance, not much to begin with, suffered. Her skin turned yellowish, sickly so, and shadows underneath her eyes made her look ghastly all the time; her weight dropped from a measly one-hundred-three pounds to a wobbly eighty, the knobs of her knees standing out as striking, her collarbone protruding, the knobs of her spine pressed firmly against her parchment-thin flesh, her bony fingers fitting in the spaces of her ribcage, which threatened to poke out of her skin; her hair, which had once been so curly and bouncy, became limp and oily, pieces falling out while she slept and she could line them up to cross edge-to-edge across the pillowcase.

Apparently, she looked horrible enough that even _Beth_, who _never _pointed out anyone's appearances, made a comment.

"You look like roadkill," Beth commented during lunch as Chloe picked at wilted lettuce in her salad, spearing a bright red strawberry and bringing it to her chapped lips.

Beth McIrye was pretty, with naturally pallid skin, high, slanted eyes that never seemed to miss anything, and long, straight hair that looked as though it had been colored with ink. Her wardrobe, however, consisted of a thousand black turtlenecks, black jeans that looked like a second skin on her, and ballet flats. Despite those facts, she blended in seamlessly with those around her, and didn't particularly stick to one certain group; instead, she flowed in and out of each group, the jocks, the artisans, the bitchy girls.

"Feel like it too," Chloe croaked, chewing slowly so as not to split the skin of her lips further. Every bite was agony, her stomach threatening to heave.

"What's wrong?" Kari asked, glaring in the direction of Royce's boisterous laughter. Her multi-colored braids swung around her face as she leaned back, placing her bony butt back into the seat.

"Haven't been sleeping very well," Chloe admitted, swallowing some water and pushing away her wilted lunch. Sensing eyes on her, she looked behind her and found Amber Long, one of the groupies who followed Royce around like puppies, glowering at her with cold, artic-blue eyes. Quickly tearing her eyes away from the hate-filled stare, the strawberry blonde shook her head and winced as pain rolled through her neck from the knot right at the top of her spine, where her shoulders met her backbone.

"Have you tried Nyquil?" Kari leaned forward to steal a strawberry out of Chloe's salad.

"I don't need cold medicine to sleep. That's dangerous." Chloe scowled and shoved the predominantly empty container at her friend, watching Kari pick away the slightly wilted leaves of lettuce and plucking the strawberries eagerly. Just the sight of the red fruit sliding into her friend's mouth made Chloe feel nauseous, her stomach rolling in short, little cramps. She swallowed fiercely, fighting back wave after wave of nausea as she glanced around at the sea of faces—stuffing their mouths full of food, pizza slices and subs and sandwiches and donuts and salads and cold take out—and gritted her teeth. It did little to make the nausea go away.

"Chloe?" She blinked against the spotlight-intense lights and squinted at her friends. "Are you okay?" Chloe blew out a deep breath that whistled through her teeth and rubbed her face, feeling the clammy, sweaty skin there. Her stomach turned as she managed to twist away from the table, smashing her hip against the low-hanging edge. A hand clamped tight over her mouth as she barely leaned over the trashcan and vomited what little was in her stomach.

In the car, Lauren peppered her with continuous questions and Chloe squeezed her eyes shut against the shrill tones of her aunt's voice as a headache brewed in the back of her head. Using her sweater as a pillow against the window, Chloe closed her eyes and tried to take deep, calming breathes to keep from vomiting again. Lauren continued to prattle about the list of symptoms that came along with a stomach bug, but Chloe didn't point out that she'd had maybe ten hours of sleep total all week, unable to fall asleep after the nightmares.

When they got home, Lauren gave her a pained expression, her eyes flicking towards the door like a child waiting for someone to burst through it.

"Go," Chloe managed and Lauren shot her a wide-eyed stare before enveloping the sick girl in a hug and shooting up the staircase, digging through her purse for her pager as she did so. Chloe was surprised she never bumped into anything, what with her face glued to the screen.

"Sick?" Derek asked and she jumped, startled. The motion jarred her head and made her sway, but she caught the back of the couch and used it as leverage. He shot her a darkly amused look, and she noted that he'd practically materialized from the darkness of the unlit hallway, as silent as a predator stalking its prey. Leaning back against the door jamb of the front door, his eyes lazily dragged up and down her frame and she felt painfully aware of her bare face, no makeup, and her hair hung around her face, lank; this morning, she'd thrown on some oversized, obnoxious sweater—highlighter yellow with tacky strawberries stitched on that—that made her look about eight in the boob department and a pair of thread barren sweatpants that dragged along the ground and she was deeply regretting it.

Finally, he spoke in a clear, authoritative voice. "Come on. I'll make you some soup." A corner of his mouth twisted into something that resembled a smile.


	12. Chapter 12

Dark Angel

12

Chloe woke up, exhausted, to the sound of banging in her room. She bolted upright, the comforter wrapped around her in a swathing cocoon, and scowled at Derek's muscular back, where his dissipating wings fluttered weakly. Last week, they'd been to his hips with feathers, and now they barely hit the bottom of his shoulder blades.

"What are you doing?" she asked stiffly, although she was pretty sure she sounded like a little girl with her stuffed up nose.

"Hanging these on your window frame." He shifted, holding the head of a nail between his teeth, and over his shoulder, she saw two swinging braided ropes, intertwined with feathers and multi-colored wooden beads. The ropes looked like they were made out of grass.

"What is it?" She kicked away the blankets and shuffled over, shivering.

"Something I picked up while wandering the Earth. Instead of a dream catcher like the Native Americans used, I've found that braids of grass and things like dried flowers and herbs are a little obvious then my animal charm, and they're a lot easier to make. Oh, you were supposed to hang it above the window." He shook his head as he turned away and hammered in the fourth nail. Another rope was nailed into the wood frame, and then he put the wolf charm on the end.

"Show me," she said, hoping she didn't sound too eager.

"Show you what?" he asked without turning around.

She shuffled back until her knees hit the edge of the bed and sank down. "How to do _that_. That _thing _with the ropes and herbs," she said quietly.

"It takes time and patience." He turned to face her and crossed his arms. "And," he continued, crossing the room within a few easy strides, "you're in no condition. You puked at school, remember?"

She groaned loudly at the mention of vomiting and adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, cinching it tightly under her chin to chase away the chill of the air conditioning. "Don't remind me," she muttered darkly, narrowing her eyes at her knees. If she closed her eyes, she could remember Beth's wide eyes and Kari's open-mouthed expression as she puked.

"I don't think this is a regular mortal cold," Derek explained, sitting down on the end of her bed without waiting for her permission to do so. At her confused look, he sighed heavily. "You're having nightmares about a demon named Royce, right? He's a Dream Stealer; he feeds off fear and sickness, the unease of others, negative emotions. He's using the fear you harbor for Royce Banks as a disguise, taking his shape, and so is his accomplice, taking the form of Rachelle Rodgers."

"But I _like _Rae. She's nice," Chloe argued.

The angel shot her a black look. "Apparently, at one time, you were scared of her, or at the very least, didn't like her. No matter how deeply it's buried, that emotion is still there, whether you recognize it or not, and that's how the female Dream Stealer is using Rachelle's form." He sighed heavily, covering his eyes with his hand, and just sat there, still as could be.

She was at a loss. What was she supposed to say? "Oops, sorry. I didn't mean to not like Rachelle and Royce. It's totally my fault that those Dream Stalkers are preying on me." She wanted to comfort him, but shied away from the idea, so sure he wouldn't like it, or maybe she was afraid of him trying to kiss her again like before. With girls like Rachelle Rodgers, Amber Long, and Mila Andrews around—pretty, with voluptuous curves and to-die-for smiles and enough confidence to throw barbs right back in haters faces—how was she supposed to compete? It wasn't that she didn't think she was pretty; it was that she didn't have the confidence to put herself out there, afraid to get hurt, afraid to have her heart broken, afraid of rejection.

After a long internal debate, wrestling with her nerves, she scooted closer to him, abandoning her cocoon blanket and wrapped her arms around his shoulder, pressing her face into the back of his neck. "I'm sorry," she apologized against his warm skin, ignoring the bumps of acne that met her mouth.

He froze under her touch, muscles taut, and the minutes crawled by, painfully slow.

She pulled away, her face burning with embarrassment, but in a move she didn't ever anticipate, Derek twisted and wrapped his arms around her, crushing her against him. Weakly, she coughed, hoping he'd let go for fear of getting sick, but he only pressed his face against her ear.

"I'm going to fix this," he murmured, pulling back to look her in the eyes.

She nodded.

"I'm going to fix this, so you don't get hurt. I won't let you get hurt because of me."

He was so close, she could see the flecks of brown in his eyes, the red vessels in the whites of his eyes. She was aware of how close they were, his hands squeezing her arms, his knees digging into hers; she could smell the odor of his BO as his deodorant wore off.

_Oh, screw this! _She leaned up, closing her eyes already, and felt him jerk out of her grasp, and then slouch, his mouth hitting hers a tiny bit too hard, and she pulled back, wincing. Her finger traced where her lip had hit her tooth.

"Was that…okay?" he asked.

"I hit my lip," she laughed, tracing the tiny bump.

He smiled, glancing at her from under his eyelashes, and leaned down again, laying his hand across the back of her neck.

Her heartrate sped up and she closed her eyes, placing her hands on his shoulders.

Gently, softly, almost like a whisper, his mouth touched hers, dry lips, warm. His lips were hotter than any other boy's she'd kissed and soft, moving in a strange, soothing motions that made her stomach twist and her heart pound double-time. She'd never been kissed like this and it made her ache all over.

"Chloe?" The door downstairs slammed and Derek pulled away, smiling at her.

"That was nice," he murmured.

She nodded quietly.

"I'd like to take you on a date once you get better," he continued.

"Me too."

More clanking, the keys hitting the ceramic bowl, and then clunky footsteps. "Chloe?" Lauren asked.

"I'll go make you some soup," Derek said with a wink and headed away.

Chloe laid back down and curled up, closing her eyes.

The door creaked open and she knew it was Lauren leaning over her and kissing her forehead. "Love you," she whispered, and then the door closed.


	13. Chapter 13

Dark Angel

13

The next morning after Derek nailed the grass ropes, she felt marginally better. She could breathe out of her nose and she didn't feel as tired as she had. Before anything, Chloe gathered some jeans and a t-shirt and popped into the bathroom to take a shower. While the water warmed, she brushed her teeth meticulously, combed her gnarly hair, and studied her reflection; there was color in her cheeks that hadn't been there before and she didn't look as gaunt.

"Chloe?" Lauren asked, rapping on the door.

"Yes?" Chloe lifted up her over-sized shirt to examine her side, deciding that she'd eat some eggs or maybe some toast, something easy for her stomach.

"I'm headed to work, and your father is at a meeting. I'll check in on you at three. That boy is downstairs. If you need anything, call me, okay, honey?" Lauren said.

"Don't worry, I will," the blond reassured her aunt with enough enthusiasm to make her leave as she undressed and headed into the shower. The hot water shocked Chloe at first, and then soothed her tight muscles; rivulets streamed down her face and she tilted her head into the spray. After her hair was thoroughly saturated, she turned off the water and scrubbed herself down until her skin tingled and then she washed her hair until she was sure she didn't have scalp left with how hard she was digging her nails into the skin. She watched the dirty water run down the drain and soap slide down her legs when she rinsed out her hair.

It was as she dried off that she noticed something in the fog on the mirror, almost as though someone had dragged their finger through it to write on it. _I'm watching._

The door was locked and there wasn't an outside key to get in.

Something akin to ice ran down her back as she scrambled for the door while her eyes searched frantically for someone; she even checked the linen closet.

There was no one in the house besides her and Derek; Lauren had just left and Steve was in a meeting.

A hard bar of ice hit her between the shoulder blades and she pitched forward, smacking into the door. All breath in her lungs escaped in a wild gasp as she slid to the floor, struggling to catch her breath. She readjusted her towel and turned to look over her shoulder, nearly screaming when she didn't see anyone. Once she caught her breath, she clumsily got to her feet, only to be shoved again, harder this time, enough to make her loose her balance completely and land face-first on the floor.

Giggling filled the air and unease made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Chills ran through her as the same hot bar pressed down, but it was smaller, more like a hand keeping her pinned to the ground. She kicked her legs and something clamped over her mouth.

Terror made her panic, which made her twist and buck and flail. Blood pounded in her ears as the hand on her back was replaced by something sharper, like an elbow or a knee, digging into her spine at a painful angle while the hand trailed down her butt and across her wet thigh.

_No. _

The corner of her towel, trapped under her hip, was peeled away, taunting her. Goosebumps broke across her skin.

_No, no, no. _The hand pushed the fabric away from her under thigh without preamble. It was like having an ice-cube pressed against her skin.

"No! Derek!" she screamed, and a white flash blinded her as the invisible hands vanished. She was thrown backwards by a hard force that hit her in the stomach and her head cracked against the door. The towel fell away and she was left lying on the floor, shell-shocked at what had happened.

"Chloe! What's wrong?" Derek demanded as he pushed open her bedroom door and stalked forward. Her lack of clothing gave him pause, but then he continued on, throwing the towel to her. "I heard you scream."

Tears filled her eyes as she wrapped the towel around her body again. Her spine ached and her skin felt grimy and filthy. "S-some…th-thing…in th-there," she managed to choke out as she lifted a hand and pointed in the bathroom.

"What? A spider?" he muttered as he stood, sweeping passed her, only to freeze where he stood. "Chloe, what did you do?" He turned to her, surprise in his green eyes.

She rose and walked over. "I-I di-didn't do an-anyt-thing," she said and peered around him, only to scramble back in surprise and horror.

There was a figure lying on the floor, but it was more like a charred heap, wisps of smoke rising off it. It wasn't moving, so she figured it was dead.

"Chloe, what happened?" There was no humor in his voice. He was dead serious.

"Something…attacked me," she whispered, staring at the heap still, and felt the cold hands on her, edging her towel up passed her thigh, to do God knew what to her. "It pushed me o-on the gr-ground and tr-tried to pull my to-towel off. It was so c-col-old."

His next words chilled her to the bone, deeper than the figure had. "That's a Dream Stealer."

* * *

The hot tea didn't do anything to thaw the chill in her bones or to erase the memory of the Dream Stealer's hands on her skin, even bundled in a ridiculously thick sweatshirt and three blankets.

An untouched bowl of soup sat on the table in front of her as Derek watched her from his seat, hands folded over his mouth. He hadn't spoken a word after he told her what the charred mass on the floor was, and she was still trying to process everything.

"Dream Stealers don't materialize out of the Realm very often, but I can't figure out why it chose to attack you, though," he said suddenly. His eyes flicked between her and something behind her; she knew it was the picture before Jennifer died, where she'd forgotten to re-apply her sunscreen and was burnt like lobster, beaming at the camera. Jennifer had smeared an insane amount of Aloe Vera on her. "But your mother may have something to do with it."

"My mom?"

He took a breath.

"Your mother wasn't human, Chloe."

* * *

**Sorry that I haven't been on in forever. I had to get my laptop fixed, and then got into Sony Vegas. Anyway, I'll be trying to update more regularly again.**


	14. Chapter 14

Dark Angel

14

She stared uncomprehendingly at him before she burst out laughing. Her mom…not human? That was insanity but then again, maybe she deserved a padded cell for the tiny part of her that believed him. It made sense. Her mom had always seemed other-worldly, knowing what to do for everything.

"That's insane," she said once she managed to choke down the last of her laughter and then she straightened, gripping the lukewarm ceramic mug tighter. "My mom…" Her throat swelled at the word. "She was an amazing lady but she was human. If I wasn't one hundred percent human, don't you think I would've noticed?"

"Your signs may not manifest until later. You're probably a late bloomer." He discreetly glanced at her chest and the flush of heat that swept across her face made her tug the blanket closed.

"What makes you think she's not human?" she asked flatly, hunching her shoulders against the chill that seeped in, refusing to meet his eyes.

"There's…" he started, stopped so abruptly that his teeth clacked together with an audible click, and then sighed heavily, running his hands through his wayward hair.

"All angels are branded when they're birthed and even demons have the brand, despite giving into their carnal desires," he explained, pressing the flat of his palm against his mouth. "It's on our chests, a small insignia, just a little oval like we'd bumped burning metal or just discoloration." As he spoke, he lifted his hands to the collar of his shirt and unbuttoned the first four buttons, revealing brown skin and a pink-brown mark smack dab in the middle of his breastbone. It looked like discoloration, nothing more, nothing less, insignificant.

"It's a birthmark, nothing special," she pointed out without looking up from his chest.

Derek reached across the table and the movement jarred her enough to rear back. He shot her a sour look and unwound her fingers from the mug handle and dragged her hand to the mark. It was molten to the touch, burning the tips of her fingers, and she would've moved back if she hadn't been paralyzed with high, keening voices and blinding golden light.

It went on for what felt like _years_ and when her fingers dropped away, she was surprised to glance at the clock and see only minutes had passed.

"What you saw my home, but only because I allowed you to see it. Your mother most likely kept her true identity hidden from your father," he said softly.

"Why would she do that?" she asked, examining her fingers, expecting to see blistering skin to find they looked completely normal, if not a bit pinker than they had been.

He didn't answer for a long time, but when he did his voice was raw and full of emotions she couldn't pinpoint. "Keeping our identity hidden keeps those we love, while under the guise of human, safe and it keeps them out of our dangerous world. If they found out, their knowledge sends a flare out to anyone who will listen and there's many of my mind and those who aren't who think humans are nothing but sheep." He grew quiet again.

Her stomach seized and her breathing quickened as she thought about those unfortunate to know and not realize the danger. And then, her family. What would happen if they knew? Would they be hunted down like animals? A cold chill ran down her spine. She had to know. "What about my family? The other humans who don't know about the danger?"

His head jerked up, his apple-green eyes meeting hers, and his expression was fierce and intense. "The humans who know will undoubtedly perish by supernatural hands. Authorities will rule it animal or an unfortunate case of 'wrong place, wrong time' or something. Families will mourn and life will continue. As for your family, it's in their best interest to not be aware of the comings and goings of the Otherworldly."

Her nerves were shot and she struggled to keep calm as she wet her dry lips. "And me? Those who are both?"

"The offspring of Otherworldly and humans?" he clarified, leveling his stare at her.

She nodded.

"They spend their lives ignorant, which leads to nothing of consequence, and are eventually tracked down to be disposed of once their powers manifest and are in danger of exposing us. And then, well, there are those who are informed and taken under a wing of someone who knows the ropes."

Any breath in her lungs rushed out in a breathless squeak as she sat back, slack-jawed. "What then?" she croaked.

He looked away, his head whipping to the side. "Your aunt is home," he said abruptly and a closed expression shuttered over his face.

Chloe stood up and moved towards the sink to dump the cold soup but Derek intercepted her and sat down, taking a tentative sip. "That's disgusting," she informed him.

He took another spoonful probably just to gross her out. "Not half bad," he shot right back, swallowing another spoonful of brother.

"It's all gritty and filmy," she pointed out as she stuck her tea in the microwave and set it for thirty seconds. Leaning with her hip against the counter, she watched him eat with the focus of a champion. His hair was curling around his shoulder and his jeans were dirty, paint-stained. Had he been painting?

"Chloe, I bought some pizza for dinner," Lauren called as the garage door opened. Her heels clicked.

Chloe glanced at the clock. Was it really three already? It seemed like only minutes ago her aunt had left out the door.

"I've gotta head back out," Lauren continued, stepping into the kitchen and setting the pizza boxes on the table across from Derek.

He eyeballed them hungrily.

"It's two cheese and two meat," she explained, glancing around, "and I have my cell if you need anything else. Be go—" Abruptly, she stopped speaking and raised both brows at Derek. "Is that cold soup?"

He swallowed and nodded.

"Okay. I'll be home at nine. I love you, sweetie." She swept passed him, kissed Chloe on the forehead, and then headed back out.

"I want some cheese," Chloe said to him, the smell of molten sauce filling her mouth with saliva and throwing her appetite into vicious uproars.

"Be my guest," he said, kicking the chair out.

The timer for the microwave beeped and she pulled out the tea quickly, ignoring where it splashed out of the mug and soaked the edge of her blanket.

It was funny how hungry she could be for pizza after finding out her mom was an angel, she was a half-angel, and she was probably being hunted by demons.


End file.
